Frederick Bulpert, having obtained two professional engagements at
seven shillings and sixpence each, resigned his situation in the Post
Office, and this left him free to call at Praed Street whenever he
cared to do so. Mrs. Mills described him as a hearty eater, but she
made much of him, apparently out of gratitude. Gertie had spoken to
her about Henry's letters--
"She looked rather white," said Mrs. Mills to Mr. Trew confidentially;
"but I must admit she kept her temper wonderfully well, considering!"
--And the girl took charge of the intercepted envelopes with their
contents. Her aunt declared, with emphasis, that all along she had
acted for the best. Gertie remarked that people said this whenever
they had done their worst: this was the only reproach given, and Mr.
Trew, as a candid friend, assured Mrs. Mills she had been let off very
lightly. Mr. Trew had anxieties of his own. The new motor omnibuses
still broke down occasionally, and he was able, in passing, to make
offers for the conveyances at an extremely low figure; but many of them
ran without accident, and ran speedily, and he was losing customers
hitherto considered faithful and regular. Summing up, he came to the
conclusion that the world was becoming a jolly sight too clever; the
only comfort he found was that it could not possibly exist much longer.
Regaining cheerfulness, he mentioned that if Mrs. Mills happened to
hear of an American heiress who wanted a good-looking English husband
with a special and particular knowledge of horses, well acquainted with
London, and fond of the sea, why, it would be kind of her to drop him a
postcard, giving the name and address.
"When you've finished talking nonsense," she said, "perhaps you'll
kindly tell me how I'm to manage in order to get these two young people
married. She'll be happy enough, once she settles down; but,
meanwhile, I don't like seeing her so quiet and thoughtful."
"I have never denied," he remarked, "that you are the prize packet of
your sex, and in many respects you've got almost the intelligence of a
man. But in a matter of this kind--remember, she's as pretty as they
make 'em--you're a born muddler. Leave it to me, and I'll do the best
I can for you."
Wherefore, Mr. Trew made appointments with Bulpert and held secret
discussions with him, sheltering his words with a broad, big hand,
enjoying greatly the sense of management, and, even more, the
atmosphere of conspiracy. Bulpert, on his side, began to realize his
importance, and treated Praed Street with a condescension that was
meant to represent a correct and proper pride. One evening, seated at
the counter there, and waiting for the return of Gertie, he gave a
formal warning to the effect that any cigar presented to him was, in
future, to be taken from the threepenny box.
At Great Titchfield Street, Gertie tried to divert her mind from
personal anxieties by throwing energy into work, with more than common
resolution. A large commission arrived from a ruler of an Eastern
nation, who considered a new and elaborately ornamental sash would
revive a feeling of loyalty in his army and patriotism in his country.
The girls were not permitted except on strictly limited occasions to
work after nine o'clock in the evening, and extra assistants had to be
engaged; the men upstairs who made the leather foundations were watched
and encouraged; Madame begged Gertie to recommend them to keep off the
drink, adding that they would take more notice of this advice if it
came from Miss Higham and not from Madame herself. All the looms were
at their noisy spider work; reels of gold thread were ordered in
twenties; the bobbins began to dance around the maypole,
sewing-machines sang lustily; the telephone only ceased ringing to
deliver messages. Miss Rabbit became hysterical, vehement, cross;
Gertie's intervention became necessary to prevent a strike amongst the
pinafored young women.
"We can be led, Miss Higham," they announced determinedly, "but we
won't be drove. You tell her to keep a civil tongue in her head, and
all will go well. We're not going to be treated as though we was
Russians."
The rush of work had, for consequence, a distinct advantage to Gertie,
apart from useful occupation of the mind. She stayed late to finish
books which could not be entered up in the day, and this meant that, on
returning home, the good news was frequently communicated that Mr.
Bulpert had gone; there was also the comfortable fact that she felt
sufficiently tired to go straight to bed. Bunny, at Great Titchfield
Street, on the occasions when she herself had to depart and leave
Madame and Miss Higham together, was a picture of woeful apprehension;
if she managed to gain the private ear of the girl, she reminded her
that no good ever yet came to one who failed to keep a solemn promise.
"Don't you worry," answered Gertie. "I'm not a parrot."
"I shan't feel happy about you," said the forewoman solicitously,
"until I hear you've got another berth. The smash-up will come as a
surprise to the others, but I don't care a snap of the fingers about
them or about myself. It's you I'm thinking about!"
Madame one night, at the sloping desk, referred vaguely to a wish that,
as she hastened to add, could never in any circumstances be gratified.
Urged by Gertie, on the other side, to put the desire into words,
Madame took off spectacles which she wore only when the rest of the
staff had gone, and said wistfully that if she could but get a
paragraph into the newspapers containing the name of the firm, she
thought it would be possible to die happy. Having ascertained this did
not mean that suicide would follow, Gertie sent a note to Clarence
Mills, absent since the evening of the impulsive departure from Ewelme.
No answer came, and Gertie was assuming that her cousin intended, in
this way, to prove he was not on terms of peace with her, when one of
the loom workers brought in, after lunch hour, an evening journal,
obtained by him because he required advice regarding the investment of
small sums on the prospects of racehorses.
"Here's a bit about us, miss," he said exultantly, with thumb against
the paragraph. "Here we are. Large as life, and twice as natural!"
The paragraph was found in other newspapers, and indeed it went about
Great Britain later and found its way to the Colonies. "An Oriental
Omen" it was headed, and Madame's only regret appeared to be that it
could not be held to be distinguished by the quality of absolute truth.
But there it stood in print, and there was the name of Hilbert and Co.,
the old established firm, making a speciality of manufacturing military
accoutrements, dating from the glorious year of Waterloo, and Madame's
delight proved beyond the powers of expression; her gratitude to Miss
Higham was conveyed by a kiss. One competing firm, it was discovered,
wrote a sarcastic letter to the papers that must have taken hours to
compose, throwing doubts on the accuracy of the report and inquiring
whether it was a fact that Wellington's achievement followed the
Franco-Prussian War, and this might have been inserted but for the
suggestion of self-advertisement made with something less than the
dexterity that belonged to Clarence's pen.
"I tell you what, Miss Higham," said Madame definitely. "You must come
to supper at my house the very next Sunday evening that ever is. Your
aunt won't mind for once. I'll write down the address. My proper name
is Jacks. Yes, dear, I'm married, to tell you the truth, only I don't
want it talked about here."
Frederick Bulpert, when he arrived on the Sunday evening, entered a
warm protest against what he described as this eternal gadding about.
On ascertaining the destination, he admitted circumstances altered
cases; where business was concerned, private interests had to give way.
He explained that some of his present irritation was due to the fact
that, at a Bohemian concert the previous evening, an elderly gentleman
had been pointed out to him as the representative of an important
Sunday newspaper; the comic singer who gave the information,
encountered a few minutes since in Marylebone Road, confessed that it
was one of his jokes. "And all the drinks I stood," complained
Bulpert, "and all the amiable remarks I made, absolutely wasted!"
Gertie, apparelled in her finest and best, went at the hour of seven,
after Bulpert and her aunt had quarrelled regarding the best and
speediest mode of transit, to make her way to King's Road, Chelsea.
There, in a turning she twice walked by without noticing, she found a
house with several brass knobs at the side of the door. A maid
answered her ring.
"Sounds as though they're in the studio," remarked the maid, with a
wink. "What name?"
The servant opened the door and gave the announcement, but in the
tumult it was not heard. Madame's husband was informing Madame in a
loud voice that the most unfortunate day in his life was the occasion
when he allowed her to drag him into a registrar's office. Gertie went
back a few steps, and the maid repeated the name.
"You dear!" cried Madame, coming forward pleasantly. "This is my
husband. You know him by name, I expect." She whispered, "The
celebrated river painter. Most successful. And such a worker. Never
idle for a moment."
"How d'ye do?" said Mr. Jacks, coming forward casually. "Sorry I'm
just going out. What's the night like?"
Madame switched on the electric light, and Gertie could see that the
room suggested a large cucumber frame with a sloping glass roof and
windows at the far end. On a raised square platform in a corner stood
a draped lay figure, not, apparently, quite sober.
"Well," said Madame's husband, after glancing again at the visitor, "if
it's fine, I don't know that there's any special necessity for me to
go. What do you say, darling?" This to his wife.
"Please yourself, Digby, my sweet. If you think you can put up with
our company, I am sure Miss Higham and myself will be delighted if you
can stay. Mr. Jacks," she explained to Gertie, "is naturally attracted
to his club, not only because he finds there all the latest news
concerning his profession, but because it gives him an opportunity of
coming into contact with other bright, vivacious spirits." She took
Gertie's coat and hat. "Perhaps we can get him to tell us some of his
best stories presently."
Her husband smoothed his hair at the mirror with both hands, and gave
style and uniformity to the two halves of his moustache. This done, he
turned and asked the girl whether she did not consider Whistler an
overrated artist. Just because he happened to be dead, people raved
about him. Would not allow any one else to produce impressions of the
Thames round about Chelsea. Mr. Jacks said, rather bitterly, that when
he too was no more, folk would doubtless be going mad about him, and
Jubilee Place might become impassable owing to the crowd of dealers
waiting their turn there.
"And what good do you imagine that will do to me?" he demanded. "Eh,
what? No use you saying that I ought to be content with the praise of
posterity."
"I didn't say so. How many hours do you work a day?"
"I can't work unless the fit takes me," argued Madame's husband weakly.
"Are you subject to them? Fits, I mean?"
Madame, assisting the maid in setting the table, took up the case for
the defence, and pointed out to Miss Higham that one profession
differed from another. In the case of painting, for instance, you
could not expect to be ruled by office hours; you had to wait until
inspiration came, and then the light was, perhaps, not exactly what you
required. Besides, friends might drop in at that moment for a smoke
and a chat.
"Sounds like an easy life," remarked Gertie.
"You forget the wear and tear of the brain," said Madame.
"But we get that in our business."
"Hush!" whispered the other. "He doesn't like hearing that referred
to."
Conversation during the meal was restricted to the subject of the
production of pictures and their subsequent disposal; Madame showed
great deference to the arguments of her husband, occasionally
interposing a mild suggestion which he had no difficulty in knocking
down. At moments of excited contention Madame's husband became
inarticulate, and had to fall back upon the gestures of the studio,
that conveyed nothing to the visitor.
"How much do you make a year?" she asked, when an opportunity came. He
paused in his task of opening another bottle of stout, and regarded her
with something of surprise.
"My good girl," he replied, "I don't estimate my results by pounds,
shillings, and pence."
"Do you earn a hundred in twelve months?"
"Wish I did," confessed Madame's husband. "In that case, I shouldn't
have to be beholden to other people."
"How would you manage if you weren't married?"
He looked at the mantelpiece, and inquired of his wife if the clock was
indicating the correct time. Receiving the answer, Madame's husband
became alarmed, declaring it a fortunate thing that he had remembered a
highly important appointment. It represented, he said, the chance of a
lifetime, and to miss it would be nothing short of madness; he bade
Miss Higham good evening in a curt way, and Madame accompanied him to
the front door. There they had a spirited discussion. Madame
considered an allowance of half a crown would be ample; he said, in
going, that his wife was a mean, miserable cat.
"I'm afraid, my dear, you shunted him off," remarked Madame, coming
back to the studio. "You don't seem to know how to manage men, do you?"
"Had my suspicions of that before now."
"Of course, they're very trying but"--helplessly--"I don't know.
Sometimes I wish I'd kept single, and then again at other times, when
I've had a hard day of it, I feel glad I'm not coming home to empty
rooms. Taking the rough with the smooth, I suppose most women think
that any husband is better than no husband at all."
"Rather than get hold of one who didn't earn his living," declared
Gertie with vehemence, "I'd keep single all my life."
"He did nearly sell a picture," argued the other, "once!"
They took easy-chairs, and Madame found a box of chocolates. Mr.
Jacks, it appeared, was not Madame's first love. Mr. Jacks's
predecessor had been ordered out years ago to take part in a war that
improved the receipts entered up in Hilbert's books; on the debit side,
the loss of a good sweetheart had to be placed. Madame dried her eyes,
and in less than half a minute the two were on the subject which
absorbed their principal interests. Price of gold thread, difficulty
with one of the home workers, questions of aiguillettes, sword belts,
sashes, grenades; hopes that the King would shortly issue a new order
concerning officers' uniforms. Madame said that, nowadays, profits
were cut very close; she could remember, in her father's time, when, if
there was not a balance at the end of the year of over a thousand
pounds, serious anxiety ensued. Madame brought out a large album to
show pictures of gorgeous apparel that belonged to days before thrift
became a hobby.
"Seems to me," she said, without leading up to the remark, "that Miss
Rabbit is the weak link in our chain." Gertie did not make any
comment. "I'm going to tell you something. I want to give her other
work to do, and get you to take her place. It will amount to an extra
ten shillings a week, Miss Higham."
"Do you really mean it?"
"It's why I asked you to come here this evening. You see, you have
improved so much this summer. Improved in style, speech, everything!"
"There's a reason for that!"
Gertie Higham walked up and down the studio with excitement in her
eyes. She wanted to ask Madame how long the firm was likely to endure,
but to do this might lead to the betrayal of confidence; meanwhile she
fired inquiries, and Madame, eager to gain her approval of the
suggestion, answered each one promptly. Bunny was not to be reduced in
wages; only in position. One of the new duties would be to run about
and see people; Madame's nerves were not quite all they used to be, and
the hurried traffic of the street frightened her. Next to Madame,
Gertie would be considered, so to speak, as head cook and
bottle-washer. Gertie, collecting all this information, wondered how
it would be possible to let Henry Douglass know that she was making
important progress. Possibly it could be managed through Clarence
Mills and Miss Loriner; she might meet him in London, at some
unexpected moment.
"Do you object, Madame," she asked, "if I run off now, and tell aunt
about it?"
"You accept the offer?"
"Like a shot!" answered Gertie.
"You dear!" cried Madame.
Frederick Bulpert was on the point of leaving when she reached Praed
Street; he came back into the shop parlour to hear the news. Her aunt
kissed her, and said Gertie was a good, clever girl; Bulpert declared
the promotion well earned.
"This is distinctly frankincense and myrrh," he acknowledged. "I feel
proud of you, and I don't care who hears me say so. Let me see; your
birthday's next week, isn't it? How about arranging something in the
nature of a conversazione, or what not?"
"I hope," said Mrs. Mills, escorting him through the shop, "that, later
on, you'll do your best to make her happy."
"But it's her," protested Bulpert, "it's her that's got to make me
happy."